


Allure

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis caries on another Caelum tradition.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Regis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	Allure

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When Noctis was little, he used to love being called into his father’s office, because it meant his father was finally making time for him, and it might be the only time they saw each other in a week. That delusion fell away in high school, when he realized the only time his father ever called was for _official_ things, boring, royal protocol that any servant could’ve told him. Now that he’s graduated university, he’s outgrown both excitement and bitterness. He answers his father’s summon with a neutral lack of interest. Then he steps through the tall doors and sees his father’s advisor sitting in the corner, and his back instantly straightens. 

Ignis Scientia is a handsome man. Almost painfully so. He’s exactly as beautiful as he was the day that Noctis first saw him—he never seems to age. Noctis has finally caught up with him. He’s sitting neatly at the bay window’s bench, silhouetted in the evening light, looking like some ethereal, cosmic being too easy to fall in love. For those first few seconds, Noctis is mesmerized, just like every other time that they’ve crossed paths. 

Then Regis clears his throat, and Noctis lurches forward. He turns his heated gaze from Ignis, trying not to blush, and takes a seat in one of the grand armchairs across from his father’s desk. Regis’ hands are clasped together, expression deadly serious. Noctis’ stomach twists. He knows it can’t be good. 

The fact that Regis doesn’t start with preamble only confirms that. Usually, he asks how Noctis is—how his studies have been going, if he has any interest in volunteer work or a job, if he’s still friends with that Argentum boy—now, Regis says only, “You’ve grown, my son.”

Noctis grunts acknowledgement. He’s tempted to snort that _everyone_ grows. But the mood doesn’t suit it, so he stays silent. Regis settles back into his chair. He sighs, “And so have I.”

Noctis’ frown tightens. He doesn’t understand. 

“I’m getting old, Noctis. Old and very tired. I’ve held onto certain traditions as long as I was able, but it’s time to admit that my time has past. You’re strong enough now to handle some, and I hope wise enough. It’s now _your_ time to inherit another royal duty, should you choose to accept it.”

Noctis doesn’t at all like where this conversation is going. He always hates it when Regis talks like he’s fading—it makes Noctis sick, because he can _see_ the decay in his father’s body; the toll the crystal takes on him. Noctis always tries not to think about it. Then something else registers, and he wryly asks, “Since when do I have a choice?”

There’s a lengthy pause before Regis answers, “I would not force this on you, though I doubt that I would have to.” Then his gaze casts sideways, falling across Ignis, who politely watches from his corner. Noctis can smell his rich cologne even from several meters away. It isn’t overpowering, but subtle and enticing. Noctis has never doubted why his father kept Ignis around. 

He asks, unable to keep the hope from creeping into his voice, “Am I getting an advisor?”

Regis softly answers, “He is so much more than that.” 

Finally, Ignis stands. He’s tall and lean, dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit, a purple coeurl-patterned shirt peeking out from underneath. He strolls to Regis’ desk with impressive grace and a slight swing to his hips that makes Noctis’ mouth water. It’s strangely awkward to see such an intoxicating man drift to his father’s side. 

Ignis lays a comforting hand on Regis’ shoulder, and Regis explains, “Ignis is a Messenger. He helps to guard the crystal and to share its burden, so I don’t face the strain alone.”

Noctis’ breath hitches. It should be a wild claim, but somehow, it doesn’t surprise him at all. Ignis has always been otherworldly. He’s too helpful, too tireless in his service. Noctis asks, “What kind of Messenger?”

“An incubus.”

Noctis’ eyes go wide. They turn to Ignis. He’s heard that term too, but only in stories. His mind races through a million and one rumours and possibilities. Looking at Ignis’ thin smile, Noctis thinks they might all be true. 

Ignis strolls around the desk, hand sliding free of Regis’ cape. Instead, he takes the chair next to Noctis, folding his long legs and sitting straight like any proper dignitary. He doesn’t move with the slick, languid energy that Noctis would expect from such a being, but Ignis is still very sensual in his own way. He tells Noctis in his smooth, slightly accented voice, “I will try to be a worthy advisor to you, Your Highness.” Noctis’ breath is caught in his throat. He can’t say anything. Ignis continues, “I will cook for you, clean for you, and make sure that you are the best king that you can be.” With an affectionate glance across the desk, Ignis adds, “But I’m sure you will be wonderful; your line has never failed me before.” 

Noctis thickly asks, “And in return?”

Ignis smiles thinly and answers, “It is my hope that you will indulge my... interests... as well.” It’s incredibly clear what those interests are. Noctis is already starting to get hard.

But his father sits in his peripherals. Regis murmurs, “I will miss your company, Ignis. But I am sure my son will treasure you as you deserve.” It sharply reminds Noctis that Ignis was _his father’s_ incubus; his father bedded Ignis first. 

It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. But Noctis is every bit as caught up in the web as his father was, and he can’t bring himself to try and squirm free. Ignis promises, “I am not going anywhere, Your Majesty. You have been a wondrous king, and I know your son will be as well. That is... if he agrees.” Ignis’ burning gaze returns to Noctis. Noctis swallows. 

He slowly nods. 

Ignis reaches out one slender hand and bids, “Then please... take me home.”


End file.
